


Half a Second Saved

by mementomoe



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Ambiguous Gender Warrior of LIght, F/M, Hospital Sex, M/M, Mentions of the Fortemps Family, Oral Sex, Other, POV Second Person, Second person POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-19 11:30:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16533788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mementomoe/pseuds/mementomoe
Summary: “No. I just couldn’t stop thinking about you. About how if I did that half a second later—”“Do not focus on what might have been.” His voice is quiet. He doesn’t gasp for words like he did on the ramparts. He opens his eyes. “Though had you been a half second later, you arm would not bleed.”





	Half a Second Saved

**Author's Note:**

> So, another person late to the WoL x Haurchefant train. But I love this couple too much, and I only really discovered this fandom a year ago.

“Look out!”

You turn and see a spear heading your way. Before you can react, however, Haurchefant dives in front of you and tosses up his shield to protect you.

It’s times like this you remember why you love him.

But you don’t let yourself get sentimental.

From your spot behind him, you see colors spark against the crest of House Fortemps.

This is no ordinary spear that was thrown at you. Then again, what you just saw as you made your way here should make it clear the Heavens’ Ward has something up their sleeves.

You catch the middle of Haurchefant’s shield start to melt away. Your hands go around his waist and you pull him to a side.

He loses his grip, surprised by your sudden jerk, but it’s not a moment too soon.

A javelin of light brushes over your arm, slicing along your wrist.

And Haurchefant’s side.

It destroys his haubergon like it is nothing.

While your arm is in pain, you’re only thankful that the spear did not turn with the two of you. He’s cut deep, but he’ll survive.

Aymeric and Estinien run to the two of you. Lucia follows them.

“Can you walk?”

Estinien asks.

You nod your head. You rip the rest of the cloth of the sleeve and wrap it around your forearm. That should keep you from bleeding out on your way to the ward.

Your eyes dart to Haurchefant. He’s struggling to stay crouched, his hand on the large gash. All of the side of his haubergon is gone, along with much of the front. “I don’t think so.”

Lucia goes over and grabs his shoulders,  “Your scratch is not immediately threatening, but both of you need to get to a chirurgeon’s ward as soon as possible.” She looks to you. “If I remember correctly, you had some other adventurers take our side. Did they follow?”

You blink. You did not check, but at least one of them is your closest friend. Someone who, when confronted with your former exile, used Ishgard’s reluctant opening to adventurers to their advantage to spend more time with you.

Not that you have had much of a chance until now.

They come, along with the other adventurers who made their way through with you.

“Thank the twelve you’re safe,” your friend says. “We barely managed the other three together.”

They turn to Haurchefant.

“Save him,” you say. “Please.”

One of the adventurers put a hand on the wound.  With a slight glow, they pull it away. “This should make sure it won’t bleed, but I can’t get him to move himself."

He turns to look at the one who stopped the bleeding, however temporary it is. “Please, If you all can  help, I will find a way to reward you myself.”

Your friend takes a collapsible litter from their pack It’s a bit too short for Haurchefant, but it’s better than carrying him directly. Lucia and your friend help move him to it.

With a quick grunt, they pick him up.

The walk down the Vault feels far too long. You saved Aymeric, and no one was dead.

Not yet.

Every time you reach a set of stairs, you look down and blanch. How did you get all the way up there without thinking about it?

And Lucia and your friend do their best to keep Haurchefant level.

After what feels like hours, you make it outside. Night has fallen.

Haurchefant whimpers.

“I don’t think we can go too far,” your friend says. “Where is the closest place that you would think safe?”

You don’t think twice. “Fortemps Manor. His family home. Those there are on our side.”

Though there would be no one there who can treat them.

“I’ll head to the Congregation,” Estinien says. “Aymeric keeps several chirurgeons in his employ at all hours. I’ll bring them there. You three can rest.”

“Three?” Aymeric asks. “I can assure you I am well.”

Estinien leaps away.

Thankfully, it’s not far to get there. The knight guarding the door immediately allows you and Haurchefant and your entourage in.

When your group enters the Foyer, Haurchefant’s father and half-brothers are there. Emmanellain almost goes white at the sight.

Haurchefant gives a weak smile. “I’ll live,” he says.

Artoriel starts to move. “I should look for our chirurgeon and—”

“There are some coming,” you say. “For him. And Aymeric. And me.” you lift your arm. The makeshift bandage is starting to look blood-soaked.

It takes surprisingly little time for chirurgeons to come. Each of you are ushered to separate rooms. You’re used to magic, but the healer only uses enough to stop the blood and numb you. Instead, she works with a needle and thread of some sort, stitches your skin back together as much as she can.The part nearest your wrist is too wide to manage, but she fills it with a mix of herbs and water from some spring in the Eastern Lowlands. After that, she wraps your arm with a clean linen.

“To think I would one day treat the Warrior of Light,” she says afterwards. “And that you were a model patient. Everyone I know would be quite jealous. Ah, also, if you need the poultice. I think you are in good enough shape to visit the congregation. I make it myself.”

With that, she bows (quite odd that you get a bow. You don't deserve that honor), and leaves.

You make your way back to the foyer, where everyone waits.

Alphinaud frets over what happened to you, but you expect that.

Aymeric is there too. From the way he sits, it seems whatever his chirurgeon had to say about what happened since he was imprisoned was not too severe.

Your friend and the other adventurers have left. Emmanellain gives an exact quote of both well-wishes and mocking the windfall you have of calling a mansion on the Pillars your home in Ishgard.

You’ll have to buy them a drink next time you see them.

Haurchefant is not there. And so far, there’s no news. Your heart tightens. He’s certain that he’ll survive, but you wonder if you saved him from an immediate death only to bring him to a prolonged painful one.

Gods, if that’s the case, you’ll never forgive yourself. Never feel you deserve the title everyone gives you.

You’re asked about what happened. You give a full account of the three members of the Heavens’ Ward you faced, and the one you saw on the parapet.

And you echo into Aymeric’s memories of confronting Thordan.

Still, you cannot tear your mind away from the man you love. The one who almost sacrificed himself for you.

Alphinaud turns in for the night.

Lucia, Aymeric, and Estinien leave, asking you to send a message with news of their ally.

You and the Fortemps stay awake. You don’t want to sleep. Not until you know.

You never told anyone of your relationship with him. That you were more than just an ally and friend with him. Life was always so busy, you had to take what moments you had with him that you could get. You both insisted that when things finally quieted down, you would tell everyone.

The way Edmont looks at you, you wonder if Haurchefant told him

It’s three bells after the Lord Commander leaves tha a chirurgeon greets you four. He’s tall, even for an elezen, and his light hair is tied back messily.

“He’s fine,” the chirurgeon says. “He’ll live. He can be himself for the most part.”

For the most part?

“The cut was deep,” he continues. “I know not if he would be able to stay a knight, but he will be able to walk.”

You realize your breath had been held when a sigh escapes your lips.

He’ll live, he’ll walk.

And you hope he can continue to be a knight.

“While he’s well, If possible, I would like to stay the night, so I can monitor him.”

Lord Fortemps agrees and tells a servant to set up a room for the chirurgeon. One of the ones close to Haurchefant’s.

Not yours, of course.

You go to your room. Perhaps you’ll be able to sleep some, now that you know your love will not pass. That the chirurgeon who tended him is dutiful and plans to check on him.

You barely take the worst of your armor off before you collapse on your bed. Your eyes close, so pleased that you can finally rest after the past few days.

It’s a fitful state of unrest you find yourself in. You keep thinking about what just happened. What could have happened. You keep shifting your body, thinking you found a nice position, only to notice sore spots you hadn’t known before. Your bandaged arm keeps thrumming harder than you thought possible.

A noise comes from one of the walls. Specifically, the one between your room and Haurchefant’s.

Well, if you were not going to get sleep, and he wasn’t, you might as well not sleep together. You wrap your blanket around yourself and take a pillow from the bed and walk the few yalms out of your room to his.

You don’t knock, just pull on the handle. It has to be unlocked if the chirurgeon plans to check on him.

The fireplace illuminates his silver-blue hair. He’s on his bed. You make your way to him and watch.

He’s not covered. You can see all the scars he’s gotten in the past. The times he cheated death and felt alive. He has thick bandages starting from just under his chest leading all the way down his stomach and waist. Below the trousers that poke just above his quilt.

“You too, my love,” he says. He doesn’t even need to open his eyes. Nor is it a question.

“No. I just couldn’t stop thinking about you. About how if I did that half a second later—”

“Do not focus on what might have been.” His voice is quiet. He doesn’t gasp for words like he did on the ramparts. He opens his eyes. “Though had you been a half second later, you arm would not bleed.”

Gods, why is he like this. “I don’t want people dying for me again.”

Moenbryda was the first. Then Yda and Papalymo. Thancred and Y’shtola. And you’re still confused about Minfilia's choice to deny herself rest.

“I don’t want you to die for me.”

He smiles. His blue eyes reflect the light of the fire. “I don’t know if I would. In that moment, I did not realize it was a possibility at first. Yet I could not bring myself to move away once I did.”

You run your hand through his hair and kiss his nose. You needed to hear that he had no desire to sacrifice himself. “You are quite the hero. More than me, it seems.” You kiss him again, nibble his lips.

Haurchefant rests his hands by your waist, as best as he can. You’re both alive. While there is much to focus on once day breaks, or perhaps another day in the future, right now, you just need this reassurance. You both are alive.

Your lips trail down. His jaw, his neck, his shoulder and heart. It feels like you haven’t had a moment alone with him since you came to Ishgard. Settling yourself with his family, dealing with loose ends in Ul’dah, and the trip to parlay with Hraesvelgr.

There are reasons you’ve been reluctant to share your relationship. But they seem so wrong now.

Haurchefant whimpers your name. “You make me forget myself, dearest. How I want you.”

How you want him as well.You need to remember he’s still alive, still here. You climb onto the bed and sit by his legs. You trace the lines of his bandages and press your lips where his navel lies beneath.

You push the quilt off his hips and undo his trousers. The bandages do not go far beyond his waist. You thank the Twelve for that.

You rest your bandaged arm on his stomach as you kiss the base of his dick.

“I’ve missed you so much,” you say. “I’ve missed this.”

With your free hand, you hold his girth.

Haurchefant begs for you to do more. You slide your tongue along the bottom of his dick. He feels too cold on your mouth, as if there’s hardly enough blood left in him to harden in your grasp. You close your mouth along the tip. You swirl your tongue around him in your mouth.

He seems to harden with your attention. Erect now you’re alone.

You slide your mouth down, as deep as you can handle him.

“I always love this,” he says. “Please, please more.”

Of course you cannot deny him such simple pleasures. You let yourself feel every ilm of his dick, whether in your mouth or with your uninjured hand.He pushes himself into you again. You pin him down, his dick still deep in your throat.

You thrust down on him repeatedly, each time trying something else, finding new spots, or rediscovering old ones.

He doesn’t keep quiet. Haurchefant asks for more.Tells you were to touch him.

You press your thumb into his thighs as you tease him with a slow, open-mouthed lick.

“Almost— Almost there, my—”

The door bursts open. You can hear it slap against the stone wall.

“Is something wrong? I hear you shouting.”

It’s the chirurgeon who saved Haurchefant.

Can he see you? How much did he hear?

You’re panicked at the sound, and completely uncertain of just what you should do.

Haurchefant calls for you, and comes. You swallow, surprised that someone heard you and come in.

The chirurgeon comes around and finally sees you there.You wish there had been another minute or two of warning. Enough that the worst he would see is you by Haurchefant’s side.

But no. Your mouth is still on him, eyes wide as the chirurgeon looks at you. You remove yourself from that position with some care, avoiding further eye contact with this man.

You can still feel his gaze on you.

Things are too quiet for a few seconds. He must be judging you.

“Well,” the chirurgeon says. “I have two answers now.”

There’s a calmness that wasn’t there before.

“I know just why Lord Greystone kept saying your name as you were treated. I had assumed, based on what Ser Estinien said, that it was just that you hurt yourself in the act of saving him. It is not that.”

“And the second?” Haurchefant asks. He pulls his trousers up and ties them together.

The chirurgeon laughs. “Given that you were most capable of this act only bells after treatment, I fully expect you to make a full recovery within six moons. You’ll return to active duty and command Dragonhead again. Just, do not repeat this any time soon. I do not wish you to reopen that wound.”

Haurchefant wraps his arms around you.

“May I stay here?” you ask. “Or do you think it will harm his treatment?”

“As I said, do not repeat yourself. However, I see no harm in sharing a bed. These are wounds, not illness.”

Sleeping is no longer a problem, with your bandaged arm on his chest. You wonder if perhaps you can read a narrow definition in the chirurgeon’s proscription, but decide it is better to stick to kisses for now.

The secret is out. The next morning, you may have to let others know just how close you are to him, but for now, the only thing that matters is he’s by your side.


End file.
